The Great Mouse Detective: Professions and Confessions
by Monica Jasmine
Summary: Basil and Dawson receive a surprise visit from the lovely Anthia Bloom - the daughter of one of Basil's past clients, but what starts out looking like a new case, quickly turns out to be something quite unexpected. (Includes original song lyrics. Song entitled: "London Morning")


The Great Mouse Detective: Professions and Confessions

Basil of Baker Street paced the living room floor, restlessly. It had been six days, thirteen hours, and thirty-five minutes since his last case, and he was feeling just a little—

"Positively, undeniably, and excruciatingly bored!" Basil grumped aloud, startling his good friend Dr. Dawson, who had been quietly reading the morning paper in one of the two armchairs by the fireplace.

"It's absurd!" Basil continued unhappily. "It's completely and utterly unbearable, that's what is!" He trudged his way up to the fireplace. "All of London surrounds me, and yet not one, not _**one**_ potential client has so much as sent an inquiry for my services! Dawson, if I don't have something to occupy my mind soon, I shall go mad!"

Basil erected a fist into the air for emphasis. "Mad I tell you!"

The retired army surgeon lowered his newspaper and glanced over the rims of his reading glasses at his younger, far more dramatically inclined friend, and smiled warmly.

"Oh Basil, come come now," he said reassuringly. "It's not as bad as all that."

Basil, standing in front of the fireplace, lowered his fist and turned to look at Dawson blankly.

"Not as bad?" Basil repeated incredulously, as if he couldn't believe what his friend had just said.

 _ **"Not as bad!?"**_ Basil positively roared, as if _he completely abhorred what his friend had just said!_

Dawson shrunk back in his seat a little bit at his friend's tone, instinctively pulling his newspaper closer to his own face.

"Um... Yes?" the doctor replied ever so quietly.

Basil brought a hand to up to his own face and let out a groan, and a few moments passed before the agitated mouse spoke again.

"Dawson," he began, sounding very much wearied. "I am a detective. And I have spent the majority of my life preparing myself for my work in every way I've known possible. I've read. I've waited. I've failed many times through the course of trial and error."—He sat himself down in the red armchair across from his roommate, the rest of his monologue somewhat muffled by his hands over his face—"I've suffered in every way you can possibly imagine developing my craft, refining my methods, finding what works..." Basil sighed deeply, uncovering his face and staring up at the ceiling. "And for what? For this monotony? For this idleness? For this dreadful... lingering existence?" Basil fell silent, laying limp on the red armchair.

Dr. Dawson, having lowered his newspaper, was now looking across at his friend, an expression of deep sympathy strown across his features.

"Basil..." he began gently, addressing his unhappy friend. "I'm truly sorry if what I said offended you." Basil turned his eyes from the ceiling to the doctor, but remained otherwise motionless. "I **_do_ ** understand that you feel the need to be applying your talents, and though I by no means assume that I could ever fully understand _ **everything** _ you have gone through to get to where you are today, I can certainly empathize with your situation. I myself, had to undergo a great many trials and tribulations in the pursuit of my occupation as a physician, and I will admit that when I first opened my practice, the most energetic of my anticipations were often met with only the most dreadful periods of; idleness, monotony.."—Basil had opened his mouth to say something—"And yes," Dawson put in quickly. "I also felt as if my existence were only a lingering one."

Basil gave a solemn nod, and Dr. Dawson continued. "But do you know what?" He smiled warmly. "It was only later, when I was looking back on it that I realized..."—Basil leaned forward a little—"...That those days were actually some of the best years in my entire life."

Basil didn't utter a single sound. Oh no... he just slowly reached for his violin and bow, then he started playing one of the most miserable tunes one could possibly imagine, a composition he himself had created in just such a melancholy mood as he was in at the moment.

"Oh Basil," Dawson reprimanded, though there was a warmth in his tone. "Don't you even want to know **_why_ ** they were some of the best years of my life?" he asked, kindly.

Basil stopped playing and turned his listless, half-lidded gaze upon the good doctor.

"I don't know if I could stand the sentimentality," he replied drearily. Then he turned back to his violin and resumed playing.

Dr. Dawson shook his head with a small smile, and waited patiently. A few moments passed, 'til Basil, once again, paused and glanced back at Dawson. The doctor's expression one of expectancy.

Basil sighed heavily.

"Very well," he relented tiredly. " _Why were_ they some of the best years of your life?"

Dr. Dawson smiled. "Because it was during those dreadful bouts of boredom that I realized there was something lacking, something missing from my day-to-day life _apart_ from my work."

"Oh?" Basil remarked, sounding uninterested. "And what might that have been?" he asked, not turning his attention away from adjusting his violin strings.

Dr. Dawson leaned forward. "Everything else," he said, in a hushed tone.

Basil turned back to the doctor.

"And just what is that supposed to mean?!" he asked annoyedly.

"Just what I said," Dawson replied, with a small self-depreciating chuckle. "I had spent so much of my time invested in my one goal of being a doctor, that I had nothing else to do while I waited for patients show up! And it was during those periods of idleness that I realized I had to find something else apart from work to occupy my time, that I found that I could have _ **other**_ ambitions, _**other**_ dreams, _**other**_ interests!..."

"I have other interests!" Basil insisted, thrusting forth his violin in a dramatic gesture.

"Yes," Dr. Dawson replied quietly. "But do you have any other _dreams_?"

"Dreams?" Basil repeated. "Dreams are for people who sleep, dear fellow! I have goals!"

"Very well." Dawson smiled sagely. "Then... What other _goals_ do you have?"

"Well, I um..." He fidgeted. "That is... Well..."

Dawson leaned forward expectantly.

"Uhh..." Basil cast his eyes about the room, almost as if he were searching for a goal to just be laying about as a household object.

Basil sputtered. "Now see here, doctor! I have plenty of things to occupy my time! I'm just a little bored right now, it doesn't mean I don't have _**other things**_ I _ **can**_ do! I just don't happen to _ **feel**_ like doing anything else right now!"

"Oh?" Dawson raised his eyebrows. "And what is it you _could do_ , but don't _feel like_ doing right now?" he asked, gently.

"I... Uhh..." But the awkward silence—I mean, Basil's reply, was cut short by a knock at the front door, and upon hearing it, Basil leapt to his feet like a tiger who'd just spotted his prey in the distance. "Maybe it's a case, Dawson!" he remarked, excitedly.

"It could be," Dawson sighed unenthusiastically, disappointed that the potentially constructive discussion had been so abruptly cut short.

Realizing he was still in his bathrobe, Basil darted for the bedroom.

"Quickly, Dawson!" he called back while running. "Answer the door! I'll be back as soon as I've changed!"

Setting his newspaper and reading glasses aside, Dawson rose, and upon reaching the door, opened it to find a familiar figure standing in the doorway.

"Miss Bloom?" Dawson said, surprised to see her.

The dainty, raven-haired young lady (just about a centimeter taller than Dawson), was wearing a rather pretty, but understated dark blue dress. She had a matching bonnet atop her head, and held a creamy gray parasol in her left hand. Her thin frame stood fairly relaxed, but was still erect enough that the posture was quite ladylike. She smiled amiably, though there was something of a quiet solemnity visible in her expressive brown eyes.

"How are you, doctor?" she greeted him. "You're doing well I hope?"

"Why, yes yes I am," Dawson replied. "Please—" he stood aside. "—come in, come in."

Miss Anthia Bloom - the daughter of one of Basil's past clients, stepped into the room and glanced about.

"Is everything alright with your father?" Dawson asked, now having closed the door behind her. "There haven't been any more break-ins have there? He wasn't attacked again was he?"

Anthia turned around to face Dawson. "Hmm? Oh!—No, no nothing like that!"

Dawson heaved a sigh. "Ahh, that is a relief! For a moment I thought something awful might've happened."

"Yes..." Anthia remarked distantly. "But... Where is Basil?"

"Oh Basil? He's—"

"Good afternoon Miss Bloom!" Basil greeted pleasantly, having just emerged from his bedroom in his day-time wear.

"Hello Basil." She smiled. "Are you doing well?"

"Perfectly," Basil replied. "But nevermind that! You should sit down. I can see from the bit of the grey mud on the bottom of your skirt that you've walked here all the way from Rattenmouse Square, so you must be exhausted! Would you like some crumpets seeing as you haven't eaten any lunch as-of-yet?"

"How did you know I hadn't eaten any lunch?" she asked bewildered.

"Oh it's quiet elementary," Basil replied dismissively. "There are only two routes to get to Baker Street from Rattenmouse Square, as you were walking, it is likely that you would take the shorter one - a suspicion that was verified by that other splotch of milkish white mud on your skirt, a shade peculiar to that route. Now the shorter route has no restaurants or food stalls along it, so you couldn't have possibly eaten anything you bought along the way, and I knew you hadn't eaten lunch at home because; taking into account the time you'd have spent walking here, any meal that you would have eaten at home would've fallen under the category of breakfast, rather than lunch."

Anthia stared back at Basil, an expression of sheer amazement on her face. "Mr. Basil, I had the privilege to witness your methods all throughout the duration of my father's case, but I greatly doubt that your application of them shall ever cease to astonish me."

Basil's face reddened a bit at her praises and he grinned sheepishly. "Oh, it's really not all that impressive." He indicated to her the armchair Dr. Dawson had been sitting in earlier. "Do sit down, please."

Anthia did as he suggested and Basil sat in the red armchair across from her. Dawson could've retrieved a chair from the next room over, but he was quite content to just stand.

"So, Miss Bloom," Basil began. "What business brings you here today?"

Anthia had just set her parasol and bonnet down, and now looked between her two hosts apprehensively. She began to fidget with her gloves. "I'm not exactly here for a consultation," she confessed awkwardly.

Basil and Dawson shared a confused glance.

"Oh?" Basil raised his eyebrows.

"I um..." She shifted her gaze. "I wonder if it might be possible for me to... have a word with you, Mr. Basil?" She glanced at Dawson. "...Alone?" she finished.

There was a long pause.

"Oh... Well," Dawson began. "I have been meaning to make a trip to that newly opened library on Grace Street, I could just step out and—"

"Miss Bloom," Basil spoke firmly. "If you are in any kind of trouble I can assure you that Dr. Dawson is a completely trustworthy confidant, and anything that you have to say—"

"It's not—!" Miss Bloom brought a hand to her face. "—like that," she finished, quietly. "Please just..." She fell silent, her face remaining covered.

Dawson turned to leave, and although Basil tried to prevent him by gently grabbing his friend's shirt cuff, Basil was a bit too slow, and his friend had already reached the coat rack before he could do anything about it. Taking his hat and coat in hand, Dawson gave the increasingly desperate Basil one last apologetic glance before exiting through the front door, leaving Basil and Miss Bloom completely alone.

Basil turned his eyes towards the troubled lady in front of him... and gulped.

Removing a trembling hand from her face, Anthia looked to Basil and swallowed hard. "Mr. Basil," she began, uneasily. "I um..." She stared down at the carpet. "The... the reason I wanted to speak with you alone was..." She paused and inhaled sharply. "Is that I... I wanted to tell how I... I _**needed**_ to tell you about..." She swallowed again.

"Miss Bloom," Basil spoke softly.

Anthia lifted her gaze to meet his, her eyes glittering a bit.

"I think I already know what you mean to say."

Anthia's eyes widened. "You... do?" she asked pensively.

Basil nodded.

"The fact that you expressed a desire to speak with me—and me alone, about a matter that would not qualify as a consultation made it all quite clear. You needn't make any further efforts to impress upon me what it is that you intend to say."

"But..." Anthia wasn't sure. "How could you possibly know about—?"

"Your feelings, Miss Bloom?"

Anthia froze.

"I'm afraid I didn't tell you everything I'd noticed upon seeing you," Basil began quietly. "I am aware that your father has many carriages at his disposal. I also know that were you to ask, he'd have easily and most happily granted you the transportation required to come visit me, so you must have wished for no one to know where you were going because it was something you felt didn't concern anyone else, and that's why you climbed out of your bedroom window."

Anthia's eyes widened.

"You have a small tear on your dress," Basil explained. "And I remember there was a protruding nail on your window sill when I was investigating the burglary at your father's estate, and that tear easily corresponds with one that one might receive were one to climb through it."

She averted her eyes.

"And considering the dreary weather we've been having of late," Basil continued. "It is doubtful that you would want to go for such a long stroll all by yourself on the London streets _unless_ you were working up the courage to say something difficult, as you could've easily hailed a hansom partway through your walk and taken it straight here."

Anthia exhaled heavily, and though she was still clearly troubled, her countenance showed great relief upon knowing that he understood.

"I don't suppose..." She spoke with some difficulty. "I don't suppose you could ever _return_ my sentiments?"

"No, Miss Bloom," Basil answered quietly, his eyes looking to her with an expression of sincerest sympathy. "I'm afraid not."

There was a very long silence, and it was obvious Anthia was making a great effort to suppress her emotions.

"Is there really no way you could—?" He lower lip quivered. "Then is it that I'm—?" Her voice cracked. "Am I not—?"

Her voice broke and she covered her face and began to cry.

Basil swallowed and several long moments passed. Anthia's face was held only relatively still in her trembling hands, and for a while there was no sound heard apart from the gentle sobs that escaped her lips, and the quiet ticking of the room's clock. Basil stood, then slowly, hesitantly, he extended an arm towards her, touching his hand to her shoulder. He gently pat several times, although he knew it could hardly provide her with much comfort, and even as he did it he questioned the prudence of the action, but it was kindly meant, and unbeknownst to him in the silence of the moment; gratefully received.

"I'm... sorry," he stammered, and Anthia's breathing stilled within her at his words. "I should have known it sooner. Had I observed it, then perhaps I could've spared you... even a portion of this pain." He carefully withdrew his hand, taking in a deep breath for his next words. "Forgive me. It's certainly not that you are lacking anything, on the contrary, I don't think I've ever met anyone so full of warmth and vitality of spirit. You have an agreeable disposition, and one would have to blind not to notice that you possess a great many qualities that are most..."

He stopped upon seeing Anthia's tear-stained face. She had half-removed her hands from supporting her head and was looking up at him with inquisitive eyes, something of bewilderment playing out on her features, no doubt in reaction to his unexpected compliments. Suddenly, feeling the need to shift the monologue's focus, Basil cleared his throat and began pacing as a means to avoid eye contact.

"I..." he started anew, with a tone that suggested almost judicial indifference. "I am to blame. It is no fault of yours."—He straightened a few objects on the mantel—"You simply desire something that does not exist. There is no place in my life for anything but my work. There never has been, and there never will be. I'm like a printing press, or a typewriter. I have one objective, and accomplishing that objective is my sole purpose, and I tend to view all else as needless distractions. Even Dawson has admitted I'm something of an automato—"

But Basil's speech was cut short by the sound of... laughter?

He turned away from the fireplace in front of him and towards Anthia, who was by no means fully recovered from her more somber emotional state, her laughter was mixed with her bitter intakes of breath and sharp sobs. Basil wasn't sure what to make of it, he couldn't tell if her chortling was directed at something he had said, or if the situation was just too much for her sanity. Presently, she looked to Basil with filled eyes, her lips shaping a small smile. She shook her head, wiping away a few tears that had fallen in her outburst.

"No," she stated gently, but with a firmness only born of conviction. "You aren't like an automaton, or a printing press, or a typewriter. You're a... very special person..." She swallowed, and Basil's gaze stayed fixed on Anthia as she spoke. "You're funny, compassionate, driven... confident... kind—"

"Miss Bloom I don't think this is—"

"Your meaning in life isn't tied to a single purpose like some machine!"

Basil's expression showed he was somewhat taken aback at Anthia's sudden outburst, but she continued unperturbed. "You're talented and your work has purpose yes! But there is so much more to life if you'd just let yourself think about something other than your work! Allow yourself just a little—"

"Miss Bloom, now really," Basil interjected gently. "It was only metaphor! I never meant to imply—"

"No it wasn't! It was exactly how you felt!" Anthia cried. "Being a detective is important to you, and I respect that! But it is not the definition of _who you are_! You're a living, breathing person! And there are living, breathing people who care about you for who _**you**_ are, not just what you do for a living!"

"I am aware of it Miss Bloom there's no need to get melodramatic!" Basil replied, curtly.

"Then _why_?" she breathed. " _Why_ do you reject me? If it's not that there isn't room for people in your life then it must only mean that I'm... that I'm..."

She looked away.

"I already told you that wasn't the reason!" Basil insisted, frustration seeping into his tone. "I tell you it's all my fault and that you've done nothing wrong, and then you go right back to blaming yourself, and the next thing I know you're—!"

She was crying again.

Basil ran a hand through his hair and stifled a groan.

 _Great, now what?_ he thought.

Heaving a sigh, Basil slipped his hands into his pockets and approached Anthia's armchair. "Miss Bloom," he spoke softly, but her sobbing didn't subside. "Miss Bloom," he repeated. A few moments passed. "Miss Blooooom," Basil practically sang.

Anthia sniffed and slowly lifted her gaze to look at him. Her eyes were blurred with tears, so she only saw splotches of color at first. She blinked a few times. Basil was holding something out to her... it was a handkerchief. Anthia looked up at Basil. Basil smiled reassuringly. Anthia looked back down at the handkerchief. Basil. Handkerchief. Basil. Handkerchief. Anthia took the handkerchief and wiped her tears with it.

"There now!" Basil said cheerfully. "Isn't that better?"

Anthia sniffed again and nodded, then Basil, leaving the handkerchief in Anthia's possession (just in case), took the seat across from her.

"Now," Basil began, placing his fingertips together. "Since it is my belief that a fuller understanding of a situation, and one's standing, often helps one to accept and adjust to live in accordance with what is, and to do so to the ultimate end that closure may be attained for all parties involved; I feel that the most logical course of action in this case is..."—he paused for effect— "cross-examination."

Anthia allowed her hands, along with the handkerchief she was holding to rest on her knees, her expression; one of incredulity, and Basil's smile broadened ever-so-slightly in amusement at her reaction. "It is simple," he continued, a warmth and certainty in his tone. "Anything on which you are not clear; you may ask me, and I will do my best to explain myself—Uh! Though I _**do**_ reserve the right to remain silent on all that I do not feel comfortable... speaking." He grinned sheepishly, and Anthia smirked at that last, hurriedly tacked on addition to Basil's monologue.

Miss Bloom took in a relieving breath and nodded in agreement, exhaling fully. There was a pause while she considered how to phrase what she would ask. Basil waited patiently, resting his chin on his right hand, his left hand fingers gently tapping his knee with a sort of contemplative anticipation.

"Do you..."

She hesitated.

Basil leaned forward amiably, an encouraging 'yes, go on, it's alright' expression on his face.

Anthia swallowed and averted her gaze as she spoke. "Do you love me?" she managed quietly.

There was a pause.

Anthia turned her eyes back to Basil, an impulse of curiosity overpowering the shyness she was feeling at her own question. Basil had been formulating his reply, and now readjusted himself, placing his palms together as he spoke, and moving his hands in accordance with the emphasis of his words.

"I will not deny that I _do_ care a great deal for you," he began. "I care about you as, someone I believe is a truly _**good**_ person. You are someone who has; _quite deservedly_ , earned my respect and... on occasion, your example has even inspired me to the extent of bettering _my own_ character in matters of... consideration." Basil had glanced up at Anthia several times during his speech to make sure she was coping alright, each time seeing that she was listening to his monologue with great attention.

"And..." he continued softly. "Depending upon your definition of the word; _**love** ,_ I suppose, in my own way... I do love you—uh though not in quite the way one might expect that phrase to express it—It is more of the kind of love one would reserve for... very dear friends." Basil finished and looked up, a nervous anticipation playing out on his features, awaiting the lady's reaction to his—as he felt it—insufficient and clumsy explanation.

Anthia let out a breath she had been holding, it's release an expression of her half-relieved, and yet still half-burdened heart. She nodded in silence, and the beginnings of fresh tears glittered in her eyes. Basil was concerned she might start crying again, but after blotting her eyes briefly and pausing for a few moments, she seemed sufficiently recovered.

"I see," she uttered weakly, before releasing several uneven breaths that clearly evidenced her turbulent feelings, and Basil's expression flickered with guilt upon seeing her reaction, but deep down he knew this was all for the best.

A long moment passed.

"Then..." Anthia squeaked.

Basil lifted his previously downcast eyes to look at her, and Miss Bloom cleared her throat, trying desperately to reel in her emotions enough to ask her second question.

"It's alright," Basil reassured her kindly. "Take your time."

Anthia let out a sharp breath, something between a laugh of appreciation for his patience, and a pain-filled sob. Then she just breathed for some moments. Basil leaned back in his red armchair. He wasn't going anywhere until she ended the interview having as many answers to her questions as she required him to give if _**he**_ could help it.

Miss Bloom regained her composure and began again. "Um... Living as you do, with... everything just as it is..." She lifted her tear-filled eyes. "You're happy... right?"

Basil's expression softened. It truly moved him knowing that; even when she was feeling what she was feeling, she could still think to consider _**him**_ and _ **his**_ happiness.

"Yes, Miss Bloom." He smiled. "You needn't fear for me upon that point."

Anthia smiled a sincere smile, a single tear spilling over and onto her cheek. "That is good," she said. And though her words were spoken softly, her tone carried with it a feeling of closure.

Some moments passed and Basil was just about to get up, believing the discussion to have come to an end, but Anthia had one last thing to add.

"May..."

Basil stopped cold.

"May I ever see you again?"

She glanced at him, trying to hide how anxiously she was anticipating his answer. Basil's expression showed some surprise at the additional question, and the turnings of his mind were evident even in the aversion of his gaze, the intensity of which, showed just how carefully he was considering the question's many possible answers.. Eventually, however, Basil sighed gently and replied: "As long as you are aware of how things stand between us, Miss Bloom—and your father knows where you are—then you may always, and most certainly count yourself welcome here at any time."

Anthia's features lit up with the rejoicing of spirit she felt upon hearing those words, her emotions practically dancing within her heart. Basil wasn't going to begrudge her his friendship just because she had wanted something more, and she practically leaped to her feet with the knowledge of it, happy that her loss in the situation that she'd imagined to be all-or-nothing hadn't been quite as devastating as she had expected it would be. However, unfortunately for her, the dreadful roller-coaster of emotion she had just experienced had taken a bit more out of her than she had at first realized, and when she shot to her feet, her legs weren't quite up to carrying her full weight just yet. She mis-stepped, and wobbling like jelly, her legs buckled under her. She would've toppled over altogether, had Basil not acted quickly in preventing her fall.

"Miss Bloom! Are you alright?" he asked, frantic with concern, having just restored her to her seat.

"Oh it's nothing, really. I'm perfectly fine," she reassured him embarrasedly.

"Wait here," Basil instructed, fleeing from the room before she could even utter a word to prevent him.

Anthia sat there in silence a few moments, just feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. If _only_ she hadn't put so much weight on her feet all at once! The whole situation made her feel pathetic enough without her having to add being an _invalid_ to the list! She fidgeted in her seat with great discomfort, but she didn't have to wait like that very long.

Basil returned presently, carrying a glass of water, making his way to her at a speed-walk. Anthia parted her lips to decline the refreshment, but Basil erected his forefinger in a gesture of insistence. He handed her the glass and gave her an almost parental-authoritative look, the words; **'Drink it, Miss Bloom'** figuratively written out on his face in **bold** letters _specifically_ for her to read. Anthia lifted the glass to her lips in obedience and, bit by bit, she downed the contents of the glass, then having finished, she handed the empty cup to Basil, who quickly set the cup aside and turned his attentions back to her.

"Now, Miss Bloom," he began gently. "How do you feel?"

"I'm.. fine," she replied, avoiding his eyes.

"You don't feel faint?"

She shook her head.

"Do you think you can stand?"

She nodded.

 _This is so embarrassing!_ she thought.

"Alright then, just let me help you—"

"No, no," She protested quickly, gesturing him away. "I assure that I am _ **fully**_ capable of doing it myself."

Basil paused, then silently deferring, took a step back in adherence to her wishes (though he was mindful that his distance from her was not so great that he couldn't swoop in at the last second if the need arose).

"Thank you," she said coolly.

Taking care to distribute her weight upon her feet more evenly this time, she stood up with little difficulty, though partway Basil had instinctively half-extended his arms toward her, but remembering himself, had retracted them before she could notice.

"Well, um... Good day to you, Miss Bloom," Basil said.

"Yes, good day," she responded briskly.

Anthia mechanically gathered up her things (the umbrella and bonnet) and leaving the handkerchief with Basil, she turned to leave. Halfway to the door however, Anthia stopped herself and after a brief pause, she turned around.

"Um... Mr. Basil?"

Basil, who had been standing by the fireplace, turned his head towards her and lifted his eyebrows in acknowledgement.

"Thank you for being so—" She fidgeted with her gloves. "—understanding about everything," she finished.

Basil smiled. "You are quite welcome, Miss Bloom," he said pleasantly.

Now feeling much better about her departure, Anthia smiled back at him, and once again, turned to leave. Miss Bloom made her exit, closing the door behind her, and Basil listened as the sound of her footsteps slowly became quieter and quieter, until their sound had vanished altogether.

He sighed lightly, and turned to set about tending to the fireplace, as it's flames had died down from a lack of kindling, and the room was just starting to get a bit chilly. Once Basil had satisfied himself that the fire was burning just right, he began looking for where he had last lay that song he'd been working on the other day, eventually finding the music sheets in question beneath a few oddities on the mantel.

He grabbed and unfolded his music stand, and after placing the sheets on it, he turned the pages in search of his incomplete composition, wishing to add to it, but abruptly Basil stopped. He flipped back a few pages, looking for whatever it was that had caught his eye. He stopped when he came to a song, just a few pages before the one he'd originally been searching for. The title read: _'London Morning' — Music Composed by Basil of Baker Street, With Lyrics by Anthia Bloom._ And upon further inspection, he found that some _lyrics_ had been penciled in beneath the musical notes he'd written there.

Basil's expression was one of perplexity for some moments, then suddenly it came to him; it had been some time since he had taken on Anthia's father's case, and at one point during it, it had been necessary for both father and daughter to stay here at Baker Street for their own safety. Basil wasn't much of a conversationalist like Dawson was, so he tried to entertain them by playing some of his own original music pieces on his violin. Anthia had especially liked one song he'd written, and she asked Basil if there were any lyrics for it. He told her that he couldn't think of anything that would fit, but if she wanted to she could try her hand at it. And it was right around then that Officer Brown showed up with an emergency, and Basil had had to leave. By the time Basil had got back everyone had already gone to bed. Of course, Anthia must have written the lyrics some time in between his leaving and his return later that evening.

Raising an eyebrow, Basil sat down in his red armchair, took up his violin, and began to sing the unfamiliar words inwardly as he played the song again, for what felt like the very first time.

 _~It's a cold, wet, London morning~_

 _~and the sun shines on the streets~_

 _~in every byway there's a story~_

 _~unspoken by those you may meet~_

 _~but if you listen closely~_

 _~and you open up your eyes~_

 _~there is a chance, maybe, perhaps~_

 _~you'll see right through the day's disguise~_

 _~with a mystery 'round every corner~_

 _~and secrets lying unrevealed~_

 _~the dark and cold, once it is known~_

 _~could set what's wrong: aright and clear~_

 _~and though the twists may get confusing~_

 _~and the mists may cloud your mind~_

 _~we can't live our lives fearing~_

 _~what may be just two steps behind~_

 _~just like a symphony~_

 _~a melody~_

 _~let's chase that gloom away~_

 _~he who stands and fights right now~_

 _~can't give it up and walk away~_

 _~there's a purpose in our being~_

 _~and a reason for our hope~_

 _~no, darkness wont be staying~_

 _~as long as long as we wont let it be so~_

 _~It's a cold, wet, London morning~_

 _~and the sun shines on the streets~_

 _~in every byway there's a story~_

 _~unspoken by those you may meet~_

 _~but if you listen closely~_

 _~and you open up your eyes~_

 _~you might just find that your story~_

 _~means so much more than you'd realized~_

Basil's bow rose and fell easily, the final notes of the song resonating across the strings of his Stratamouseous, and Basil finished with a smile of pure satisfaction upon his face.

The lyrics she'd written fit his song perfectly! It almost felt as though the words and the music had been created simultaneously. Basil hadn't been able to think of anything that would've matched the music he'd composed, but these lyrics blended so well with it that it was almost as if they were—!

His face fell.

 _It was almost as if they were made for each other._

Basil didn't move for some moments. But then, abruptly he gave his head a good shake, brushing off the thought.

 _Songs are songs and people are people,_ he told himself sternly. _And there's simply no place in my life for something like that!_

He turned to the next page and began to play some of the other music he had, dismissing the absurd notion and getting lost in his beloved melodies... But deep down, some small part of him couldn't help but wonder if maybe... just maybe... he could be wrong.

 _Fini_

* * *

 ** _Thanks so much for reading my story. This is the first fan fiction I've ever posted on this site, so I hope you enjoyed it.  
_**

 ** _If you would like to leave a review, I'd appreciate knowing what you thought.  
_**

 ** _Please and thank you,_**

 _ **Monica Jasmine  
**_

 _ **Update: I have also written and uploaded a companion-story (entitled: Dawson's Perspective)**_

 _ **as well as a sequel to both stories (entitled: A Biased Judgement), just in case anyone is interested in reading more.**_


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